


100 Round The Bends

by Jenwryn



Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-10
Updated: 2008-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fragments and snippets and shards of their lives.</p><p>Also the result of a meme where you write a drabble per song, heh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	100 Round The Bends

**1\. “Wasted” – L.P.**

It’s mid-summer, and impossibly hot, and Mello is tearing a newspaper into long, gangly shreds while he watches, bored, through the fine swathe of his fringe (it turns the world golden), as Matt bites his bottom lip harder and then lets out a triumphant cry, winning whatever the hell it is he’s playing this time. Mello flaps newspapers strips at him like a paper octopus and then, when Matt ignores him and moves to press START, Mello bangs the console impatiently from the red-head’s hands. Matt lets out a yelp, but Mello just ignores him and flops, uninvited, down onto Matt’s lap, his hair swinging damply across Matt’s bare legs. Matt complains again _(eww, you’re sweaty)_, but Mello just laughs up at him, summer-sleepy, _(you’re such a girl)__, _reaches a hand out and swipes lethargically at Matt’s face. _Oh really?_ says Matt with narrowed eyes, then swoops down, without rhyme nor reason, and kisses him. For half of half-a-second Mello wants to push him away protestingly but, in the end, it’s just too much of summer, and too much of boredom, and too much of damn fine.

* * *

** 2\. “Gotta Have You” – The Weepies.**

The beer doesn’t help, but nor does the vodka, and at least the beer costs less. Not that he had high expectations in the first place. Oh, maybe once, maybe when he’d just recently left Wammy’s (childhood, books, friends, innocence), maybe when he’d thought he could take off his past and hang it over the back of a barstool and leave it there like a mislaid coat. He should have known there were some things you just can’t live without; he should have known no red-headed girl could ever fill that gap.

* * *

** 3\. “Drive” – Incubus.**

When Mello took up with the goddamn Mafia, Matt had been less than impressed. Not that he’d said much, but he didn’t have to – there was a method of communication between them that required so much less than words; it was visible in the turn of his face and the way his fingers moved irritably against the stains on the kitchen table, pushing his hand-held console from one thumb to the other, with the thing left on standby. Not that Mello had ever acknowledged that he knew, either. But when the first money came in, the car had appeared in the driveway with Matt’s name on it, and they’d both known, from that point on, that this was it then, this was them, and the rest of it didn't matter, because they understood, and they _were. _Pressed between the leather of the back-seat and Mello’s hot, bare skin, Matt murmured words that meant nothing, and everything, and _I’ll be there_. And Mello's kisses sang, _I know. _

* * *

**4\. “Clear The Area” – Imogen Heap. **

Aftermath – scattered bottles and broken heads – bloody sheets in a dirty tangle and pressing down against his head like the planet has come to rest against his temples – squinting up at poisoned sunlight blearing in at the crooked blinds – aching in places he shouldn’t ache unless Matt is here, but Matt’s not here – trying to remember, and finding little but stinging, technicolour nothings – and then Matt _is_ here, here, even though he’s supposed to be out of town, and he sits so gently on the edge of the bed, so gently that not even the springs squeak, and he looks sad, and whispers,_ I made them get the fuck out, you can rest now, it’s gunna be alright_ \- and it's only after Mello nods, and wraps his fingers around Matt's hand, that Matt finally puts the gun away.

* * *

**5\. “Gothic Lolita” – Emilie Autumn.**

Sometimes men stop Mello in public bathrooms and press him up against sinks; men who are supposed to be straight, men who are supposed to be attached to someone else, men with wives and daughters waiting obliviously for them outside in the idling car or playing with napkins at the diner table. Moments like that Mello looks so incredibly young and so incredibly innocent, but Matt doubts any of those men will ever try it on with a pretty young boy again.

* * *

**6\. “Dear Interceptor” – The Academy Is...**

Sometimes they make each other bleed, not always physically, but nevertheless with deep, firm cuts. It keeps them alive.

* * *

**7\. “Assassin” – Muse.**

It was Mello who gave Matt his first gun. He’d handed it to him with a smirk and a speech about revenge and Kira and power and battle, and the birth of a grand new era, and Matt hadn’t heard a word, just stroked the barrel with his fingers until Mello had finally lost track of his words and fucked him right there, hard against the wall, in the mafia’s underground arms depot. Matt had always known how to shut the blond up.

* * *

**8\. “Twin Cinema” – The New Pornographers**

Thirteen years old and imbued with the scent of piping hot popcorn, Mello jerked slightly in the chair as the uruk-hai bore down on the audience, his body lurching sideways against Matt, who let out a funny little huffy noise of his own. For a moment Mello thought he was going to be mocked for screeching like a girl, until he realised that Matt was staring wide-eyed down at Mello’s hand that had, somehow, really, only _somehow_, and was a bloody mystery how, ended up tightly entwined with Matt’s. _Errr_, managed Mello, but couldn't seem to let go, and Matt just kind of bit his lip and mumbled something about how it being _really dark in here anyway, _and then went back to staring at the big screen. Or at least, sort of staring at it. Mello certainly wasn't startled by anything in the movie for the remaining however-the-hell-many-minutes after that, because he was too busy memorising the feel of Matt's palm against his, and the way Matt's fingers fit amongst his fingers, and the way his own blood pounded like a storm inside his head when he leant his head against Matt's shoulder, and Matt turned his face, and kissed him. Mello had never dreamt that his first kiss would taste of popcorn and be echoed by battle cries, but then, seeing as he'd never really reckoned on sharing it with the lips of another boy, either, those small facts rather dwindled into insignificance. Not that he minded, really. Although it was probably just as well that he looked like such a girl himself, else the aggravating little old lady behind them might have had more to say than just titching with irritation at the noises they were making...

* * *

**9\. “This Is How I Disappear” – My Chemical Romance.**

Their second meeting was much more awkward than the first, and both of them were acutely aware of it. The first time they’d met, Mello had simply pushed Matt down the front stairs and that, really, had been pretty much that. But that time they’d been complete strangers; they’d never met, or spoken, or stolen warm kisses from each other during long, dull evenings spread out on Mello's bed. Their second time there was all that between them and, above that, the knowledge that Mello had left Matt –and, worse, the knowledge that Matt had come to find him anyway; the painful, obvious truth that so much had changed and yet nothing ever had. And Mello had whispered something about _things you shouldn’t know_, and Matt had shrugged something about _frankly, my dear, _and that had been so gloriously out of context that even the blond had burst into laughter. The months of absence had vanished just as fast as the space between their bodies. But the knowledge never quite left.

* * *

**10\. “100 Round The Bends” – Missy Higgins. **

**** There were evenings, evenings that stretched into nights, and nights that stretched into mornings, when Mello couldn’t take another moment longer and he had to get out, sneering his lip at his partners-in-crime, and leaving the building. Then they'd vanish, just the pair of them and the smooth red car; not Mafia boys, not Wammy’s boys, not anything in the universe but Mail and Mihael, and young, and slightly crazy, and the radio up and the windows down, sometimes driving, sometimes talking, sometimes laughing, sometimes pulling over to fight, and fuck, and breathe in the scent of each other. Those were the evenings with nothing but the highways before them, and the stars above, and life stretching on ahead. It was an illusion, of course. But illusions always were the bread of mortals.


End file.
